


Needled

by codswallop



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, Nipple Piercings, Painplay, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:29:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/pseuds/codswallop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad always follows through on his threats. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/489514">How to Shut Ray Up</a>. Post-series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needled

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】Needled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1462762) by [sandy9ice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandy9ice/pseuds/sandy9ice)



> Nipple piercing, moderately graphic, with a bit of blood.

They get the first one done at a strip mall in Chula Vista, on a night when Brad has bought Ray just enough jack-and-cokes to get him fucked-up but not shitfaced. The girl who does it looks bored to death. She’s wearing blue gloves, and the whole place smells like rubbing alcohol. It’s clean. Brad’s done his research.

Ray never quits talking from the minute they walk in the door, asking questions, making stupid jokes, telling Brad he thinks he’ll go ahead and get a Prince Albert once it’s done, might as well, body modification is the hipster shit these days, he heard of one jackass who actually had his balls straight-up _removed_ and replaced them with steel ones, and then--

The girl with the blue gloves starts putting marks on Ray’s right nipple with a bright green felt-tip, and Ray says “Oh, whoa, holy shit,” and goes momentarily quiet. 

“Hold still,” she tells him. "Right here, right?”

“Yeah,” says Brad, first thing out of his mouth since they got inside the place. “You ready?” he asks Ray, while she fixes the piercing clamp onto him. “Not gonna change your mind, are you?”

“Fuck no, do it,” Ray says, so the girl shrugs and cracks her gum and pushes the needle through. Brad watches his face, watches his eyes flutter shut and his jaw drop wide open, and waits for the verdict. 

“Wow,” Ray says, and that’s all for a minute. Then, “Oh holy motherfucking jesus SHIT. Brad, you, this is... _wow_.”

Brad grins. “Yeah?”

“Oh my god.” Ray starts to laugh while the girl pushes the ring through and screws the little ball onto the end of it. “You fucking cocksucker.”

“I apologize for my friend’s filthy mouth, ma’am,” Brad tells the girl.

“Yeah, I hear it a lot,” she says. “You sure you don’t want to do the other one while you’re here already?” she asks Ray. “You took that one pretty good. It’s half off the second if you do ’em both.” 

“He’s fine with the one,” Brad says.

*

Back at Ray’s place, Brad gets him down on the bed and pushes his t-shirt up before even has time to get his boots off. There’s a thick square of gauze taped over the new piercing, and Brad peels it off impatiently. 

“Don’t touch it!” 

“I’m not. I just want to look.” 

He looks, avidly, while Ray cranes his neck trying to see himself and watch Brad’s reaction at the same time.

“Pretty bad-ass,” Ray brags. “Not much blood, right? I thought it’d bleed more. Why only one, though, dude? I feel all lopsided now.”

Brad blows very lightly on the spot where shining metal disappears into pink-red flesh, and Ray makes a faint high-pitched sound. “I want to do the other one myself,” Brad tells him, brushing his thumb over the unmarked left nipple, pressing down on it and then pinching it gently to a peak. “This one here? All mine. I just wanted to see a professional do the first one so I’d be sure and get it right.”

Ray’s response is nonverbal, but intense.

*

He makes Ray wait a few weeks. When the last of the stuff he’s ordered off the internet comes in the mail, Brad sterilizes it all and sets it up on the kitchen counter (he has to stop for a jack once, and then he has to sterilize some of it again). He reads all the instructions for about the fiftieth time, and then finally he calls Ray.

“Get your narrow little whiskey-tango butt over to my place, and bring a bottle with you,” Brad instructs. “I’m not wasting my single malt on you and I don’t have any of that cheap-ass shit you like to drink. And don’t show up already wasted or it’s all off.”

“I’m on it,” Ray says, and hangs up without even taking the time to call him a boner-biting bastard. He’s at the door ten minutes later, already pulling off his shirt as he walks in.

“Stone cold sober,” he tells Brad, hopping up on the kitchen table. “I want to feel it this time. Do me!”

“Whoa, slow down,” Brad says. “When it’s over it’s over, unless you plan on growing another one. And you’re having at least one drink before I start, because I don’t want to peel you off my fucking ceiling.”

Ray falls over dramatically onto his back on the table, arms spread wide. “You’re gonna drag this out forever,” he says. “I knew it. Put on some hardcore music at least, will you? I’m not getting pierced to the melodious strains of Barry Manilow fucking a cat or whatever this shit is on your crapped-out old-as-balls nineteen-nineties vintage stereo that your grandparents gave you for your bat mitzvah.”

“Bar mitzvah, fuckwad. Get it right.” Brad goes over and changes the CD to Aerosmith, just to bother him, then pours them both a shot of scotch. “Bat mitzvah’s for girls.”

“Yeah, and your point?” Ray asks, and Brad really should have seen that one coming. He’s a little on edge himself. “Hey, should you be drinking?” Ray props himself up on his elbows and watches Brad swallow. “You’re not gonna slip up and pierce my navel by mistake, are you? Because this is way off the map of known gay territory and into the gay hinterlands already as it is.”

“Steadies my hands.” Brad holds them out flat in front of him, palms down, to show him. “How’s Righty doing?” He leans in close to look at the previous piercing, lifting the little steel ring carefully and glancing up to watch Ray bite his lower lip and shiver. “Does that hurt? You’ve been keeping it clean, right?”

“No. Yes. Fuck, dude.” Ray shrugs him off. He sits up straight, reaches for his shot glass and slams it back. “Don’t _touch_ it. Jesus, you thought I was sensitive there before? Now we have to go have sex before you can do the other side.”

“Nice try,” Brad says. “Nervous?” He opens up one of the sterile wipes and begins cleaning off Ray’s left nipple. Ray grips the edge of the kitchen table with both hands. 

“I haven’t been this hot for action since Baghdad,” he says. “Fucking do it right now.”

“Breathe,” Brad tells him, amused. “I told you, I’m taking my time.” He pinches the nipple between his fingers and marks it on each side with the Sharpie he’d bought that afternoon--first time he’d ever got a hard-on buying office supplies--then picks up the piercing forceps and turns them from side to side, admiring their gleam before slowly and deliberately fixing them into place. 

“Brad.” Ray gives an all-over shiver again, and Brad steps back for a minute to admire the view: the metal clamp, the trapped and reddening bud of flesh, the flat tense stomach muscles, the bulge of an erection beginning to push at the front of Ray’s jeans. Nice. Ray shifts on the table, spreading his legs a little wider. “Uh, Brad, can I...?”

“Jeans off, boxers stay on,” Brad orders, and waits while Ray yanks off his boots, shoves his pants down and kicks them free. He picks the needle up slowly, brings it up into position, and touches it carefully to the marked spot on Ray’s skin, pressing the point in just enough to let him feel it. Then he pauses again and simply looks at Ray. It’s spooky to see him get so quiet all of a sudden. 

“Do it,” Ray tells him, making eye contact, and swallows hard.

Brad pushes the needle in a little more--the skin there is tougher than he thought; he hadn’t expected so much resistance. His eyes dart back up to Ray’s face. “You look good when you’re hurting.”

“Sadist,” Ray says tightly. “Fucking sadist. Can you, just, Brad--please?” His voice breaks. His cock is dabbing a dark wet spot against the front of his briefs, and there are rigid lines of tension down his forearms.

Brad pushes the needle all the way through, slowly, and watches Ray shut his eyes and breathe in and out through his nose. _Control, calm, control_ \--Brad can practically see the words written in a cartoon bubble over his head. He's the one who taught Ray how to do that, chill himself out, but he’s only seen him have to use it a couple of times before.

Brad stops again, then, because he suddenly needs to wrap his hand around the back of Ray’s neck and grip it tight while he kisses him. They can actually do this now; it still breaks his brain a little. He reaches up between them and touches the metal, fingers grazing the spot where he’s just put an irretrievable hole through soft and flinching flesh.

“Oh,” Ray says, still working on breathing. “That’s, that’s kind of too--”

He can’t finish the sentence, partly because Brad’s kissing him again, sliding his hand down Ray’s stomach now and touching between his spread legs. “Want me to suck you off right now or after I put the r--”

“Now,” Ray says, and Brad pulls him forward by the hips and drops swiftly to his knees. 

*

“A mid-piercing blow job,” Ray says later, stretched out comfortably across three-quarters of Brad’s bed. “ _Kinky_. I like that. Brad Colbert, secret kinkster.” He sounds perfectly smug, for a man with thumbprints bruised into his hipbones and come drying on his stomach.

Brad examines his handiwork now that it’s finished. There’s a thin line of blood that’s dripped halfway down Ray’s chest, and he badly wants to lick it away and suck at the little silver ring to see how it feels against his tongue. He can practically taste the flavor of it, metal and sweat and musk, but he’s read way too many horror stories about infections lately to seriously consider it. He gets up and fetches another alcohol wipe to clean it off instead, holding Ray down by the shoulder when he yelps and bucks and cusses. 

"This was a bad idea, you know," Ray says, and then he looks at Brad’s face and adds quickly, “No, I mean, because they’re gonna take for-fucking-ever to heal, and you can’t do shit with them in the meantime. I wanna play _now_ , not in two or three months.”

“Looks good, though,” Brad says.

“Yeah?” Ray strikes a pose straight out of _Juggs_ , arching his back and cupping his nonexistent tits.

“No, _that’s_ obnoxious,” Brad tells him, and reaches up to finger the right nipple ring, the more-healed one, lightly. Ray drops the stupid pose and goes limp, and Brad thinks he’s never going to get tired of watching his eyelids fall shut like that.

“That’s like...a direct line of fire straight down to my dick,” Ray says faintly. “Just so you know.”

“Good,” Brad says. “I’m gonna get you an ornamental one for Christmas. Rhinestones on it, maybe.”

Ray scoffs. “No, get me one with a skull. A skull with a helmet! No one’ll know if it’s moto or irony. I love it.”

“Mini dog tags hanging off it,” Brad suggests. “Hey, I’m tired, I’m turning in. You staying over?”

Ray makes a screwed-up face and pretends to think about it. “My tags or yours?” 

“Mine, dickweed. Those things are my property. You’re a marked man now. What the fuck did you think this was about?”

“Kinky sex?” Ray suggests, but he’s grinning like a fool.

“Yeah, that too,” Brad agrees, and goes to brush his teeth. When he comes back to the room, Ray is already asleep, curled possessively around Brad’s favorite pillow.

“Staying, then, I guess,” Brad says, and shoves him over to make room.


End file.
